These Things Happen
by insouciantmouse
Summary: Draco has a Quidditch accident in which he becomes a quadriplegic, and needs an aide to help him in the aftermath. However, when Harry Potter comes to care for him, will he be able to stand it past the first week? (Not slash. No aspersions being cast on slash, but I'm not confident in my ability to write it.)


If I told you that Draco Malfoy's first thoughts apon waking up in the hospital unable to move his arms or legs were, "I am in a hospital and cannot move my arms and legs. I must have been in a Quidditch accident which has rendered me a quadriplegic, and, until a few minutes ago, comatose," then I would be lying (and Draco would really be Sherlock Holmes in a platinum-blond wig).

If, however, I said that when he woke up in a severely white room in St. Mungo's, his first thoughts were instead, "BLOODY HELL I CAN'T MOVE MY ARMS OR LEGS WHAT IS GOING ON?! OH NO WHAT IF I CAN'T PLAY QUIDDITCH?! AAAAHHHH!"... I would also be lying. Draco is a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not become hysterical.

Draco woke up to blinding whiteness. He would have thought that cliché thing about being in heaven, but there was also a strong smell of disinfectant. That shattered any thoughts of the hereafter, since most of us- Draco included- would like to think that, if there is a Heaven, it does not smell strongly of medical disinfectant.

Anyway, so Draco Malfoy realized he was in the hospital. The next order of business, he thought, is to get up and make someone tell me _why _I am in the hospital.

This proved slightly more difficult: upon attempting to get up, Draco found that his legs did not obey him. His arms did not obey him. Only his head cooperated, moving wildly from side to side.

Draco began to panic a bit. Only a bit; after all, Malfoys do not become hysterical. Suddenly, a nurse bustled in. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy! You've awoken. That's good progress. You've been out for two days."

"Progress? I can't move my arms or my legs, and you call that progress?" Draco said, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, the nurse thought, for one who has just woken up a quadriplegic.

However, what the nurse did not know was that with Draco, that tone always meant he was quietly simmering in rage, and would soon explode.

The cheerful nurse, oblivious to Draco's gathering rage, smiled and said, "Yes, we were a bit worried. I've just got to check your vitals now. You'll be out of the hospital in a couple days, when we're sure you're fine" She began to wave her wand over his recumbent form.

Draco had finally had enough. He lay stewing while the nurse did her various tests; and then he exploded. "WOMAN, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I HAVE A LIFE! I CANNOT BE A QUADRIPLEGIC! I..." He trailed off as the reality of his situation sank in. "What am I going to do? I can't use my wand, I can't sit a broom, so I can't play Quidditch," he whispered to himself brokenly.

The nurse quietly left the room, and Draco turned his head to the side, laying it on his pillow. His eyes were wet, but he'd never have told anyone he was crying. Because he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Malfoys never cried.

About half an hour later, another nurse knocked on the door and came in. She inquired, "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes? What do you want?" Draco asked, maybe a bit rudely, for the nurse looked a bit hurt.

"I just need to ask you a few questions to figure out the depth of your paralysis, Mr. Malfoy, can you tell me how much of your body you can move?"

Draco tried to move his feet, his toes, his hands. After trying to manipulate his whole body- and only succeeding above the neck- he replied, "I can't move anything below my neck."

After asking him to try moving a few more appendages, and then poking him lightly in various places to test if he had any feeling in his limbs, she scribbled a few things on her clipboard and left.

After awhile, the door opened again.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I'm Dr. Flanagan," said a tall, fair-haired man pleasantly as he walked into the room. "I've been your doctor since your team members brought you to the emergency care center. Do you have any questions about what is happening?"

By now, Draco had calmed down. He looked resignedly up at the doctor, and, sighing, said, " There's nothing you can do, is there?"

The doctor sighed too, and then said regretfully, "No. There's nothing we can do for you right now. I'm sorry."

"So, what happened to me? Did I break my spine? I gather I had a Quidditch accident? How bad is it?"

"Yes. You collided in the air with another player, and you fell about forty feet. Your teammates didn't have strong enough Cushioning Charms, and you've been in a coma for two days. Your spine is broken. "

Now, being told you are incurably quadriplegic takes a bit of time to sink in. Draco had sort of removed from the situation. But at the words "Your spine is broken," it abruptly hit him again. And so I think he can be excused for falling into a dead faint. (Well, sort of falling. He was, after all, already lying down.)

A/N: So, I have started a story. Does it sound good? Does it have grievous errors of any kind? Did you have toast for breakfast this morning? Tell me!

(Ooh, also, tell me if this is a hugely overdone plot device. Have you read stories where we take our chosen lead and give him a malady and then a nurse whom he may or may not fall into love or friendship with? I haven't, but I haven't been here long, so I haven't run into any.)  
>I will get more (probably longer) chapters up soon, since hopefully the idea of others possibly reading this will motivate me.<p> 


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